


Reconciling faiths

by Lesatha



Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, M/M, Porn with Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-22
Updated: 2015-02-22
Packaged: 2018-03-14 15:26:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3415802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lesatha/pseuds/Lesatha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ecbert walks in on Ragnar and Athelstan being cute, and things just escalate from this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reconciling faiths

**Author's Note:**

> This is supposed to vaguely take place after the battles for Mercia, and was prompted by Athelstan/Ragnar's first scene in 3x01. THAT scene. It killed me.

Ecbert didn’t mean to spy. His first aim was to speak to Athelstan about… no matter about what, he forgot about it the second he peeked into Athelstan’s room. Again, Ecbert didn’t mean to intrude, it’s not his fault if the door wasn’t fully closed. One could argue that he should have retreated when he realized Athelstan wasn’t alone, but Ecbert didn’t even consider this option.

 

Because how can Ecbert walk away when he catches sight of Athelstan and Ragnar sitting face to face on the bed, their legs lazily tangled? He always suspected something regarding these two, but it still comes as a shock. A strange kind of shock, not exactly pleasant yet not disturbing either.

 

Ecbert doesn’t dwell for too long on how he feels. The more he studies the scene playing out in front of him, the more he understands he walked in on an intimate moment.

 

The way Athelstan and the Northman lean towards each other, their forehead almost touching, is tale-telling. Although that’s not what catches Ecbert’s interest: his eyes are glued to their hands. He can’t look away from Ragnar Lothbrok cradling one of Athelstan’s pale hands between his palms. Ecbert cranes his neck a bit and he can see that Ragnar is also running his thumb along Athelstan’s scar.

 

Now Ecbert can’t deny his heart clenches with jealousy. Athelstan never let anyone touch his hands during his time in Wessex. Not that anyone ever had a reason to do so, but Ecbert did notice back then that Athelstan put a great care into keeping his hands close to his body. The king saw him once during dinner, retracting them on his lap when the person sitting next to him accidentally brushed their fingers together.

 

Yes, jealousy fills Ecbert when Athelstan runs his thumb along Ragnar’s hand as the Northman keeps stroking his scar, a gesture that looks much too familiar for Ecbert’s liking. Hell, Ecbert can’t forget how Athelstan behave after _he_ rescued him from the cross. When he wasn’t grasping his clutch, the young pagan kept his hands close to his chest, always reminding Ecbert of a frightened animal nursing his wounds. So skittish he wouldn’t let the king check on his wounds, even when blood soaked his bandages, which happened more than once. Months later, long after Athelstan’s hands stopped bleeding, he let Ecbert press an arm around his shoulders or run a hand down his back, yet he never allowed him too close to the ugly scars. Perhaps that’s what appealed to Ecbert –Athelstan opposing to him even when he knew Ecbert could have him crucified again.

 

That time seems so far today. A soft smile curls up Athelstan’s mouth, replacing the nervous wide eyes Ecbert was used to. His hand seems boneless and malleable in Ragnar’s grasp, whereas Ecbert saw him clench his fingers in anxiousness more often than not. Well, as far as the wounds would let Athelstan clench his fingers.

 

As surprising as it is, Ecbert catches himself smiling. He is a little jealous, that’s true, but he can’t resist the tenderness of the moment. In particular when Ragnar and Athelstan start whispering to each other, thankfully in English.

 

“Does it hurt you, today?” Ragnar asks, tearing his gaze away from Athelstan’s hand for the first time, searching his eyes instead. “I saw you grimacing when you lifted that crate.”

 

Athelstan only shrugs, not quite meeting Ragnar’s eyes. Ecbert wants to see how this is going to unfold. Despite all the pressing matters awaiting him, nothing seems more important than what Athelstan chooses to say.

 

“It’s nothing,” Athelstan replies.

 

Judging from Ragnar’s frown, the Northman doesn’t share his opinion. It isn’t the same annoyance he displayed on the day the Northmen arrived in Wessex, when they decided who would fight for Mercia. Ecbert would rather label it as fond exasperation, emphasis on _fond_ when Ragnar cups Athelstan’s head with one hand, stroking his cheekbone until Athelstan looks up at him.

 

“That’s what you always say,” Ragnar sighs. “You shouldn’t put too much strain on them.”

 

“I wasn’t going to let that old woman lift that crate alone,” Athelstan retorts, arching his eyebrows.

 

Ecbert rolls his eyes a second before Ragnar does. He has to strongly remind himself that he isn’t supposed to be listening to this, otherwise he would barge in and offer Ragnar some support.

 

“Besides, you’re the one to talk,” Athelstan adds.

 

He brushes his fingers on Ragnar’s ribs, dragging Ecbert’s attention to Ragnar’s naked chest. How could he miss that detail until now? The king was so engrossed in the sight before him that he didn’t notice the long, thin scar on Ragnar’s side, probably left by a sword or a spear during the battles for Mercia.

 

“Just a graze,” Ragnar retorts, shuffling on his knees and pressing his palms on Athelstan’s shoulders.

 

He doesn’t have to press that much for Athelstan to lie back on the mattress, instantly parting his legs to allow Ragnar between them. Ragnar keeps talking as he tugs down Athelstan’s pants with deliberate slowness. He has switched to Norse, though Ecbert doesn’t need a translation to understand that he is whispering praises. Athelstan’s blush is revealing enough.

 

Ragnar gets rid of his own pants but to Ecbert’s dismay, he doesn’t seem in a hurry to do the same with Athelstan’s tunic, which is long enough to cover everything Ecbert would like to see. Maybe that’s a sign Ecbert should leave. He shouldn’t be watching as Ragnar stands on all fours above Athelstan, sliding one hand along his thigh until it sneaks under the tunic. Athelstan’s sharp intake of breath is incredibly loud. He wraps his fingers around Ragnar’s neck and yanks the Northman towards him, whispering so low in his ear Ecbert can’t grasp a single word, not even understand if it is Norse or English.

 

Ecbert resolves to leave –he will just have to imagine what happens next. It won’t be such a hardship. He takes a careful step back, trying to deaden the sound of his soles on the stony floor. Ecbert barely sees the inside of the bedroom anymore, however he can hear that the whispering has stopped.

 

“Maybe you shouldn’t leave yet,” Ragnar says, far too loud to be addressing Athelstan.

 

Also, that would be a ridiculous thing to say to Athelstan. Ecbert takes a breath and pushes the door. He wasn’t dreaming, Ragnar and Athelstan are both staring at him, Ragnar still bent all over the smaller man. They don’t seem too taken aback by Ecbert’s presence.

 

“Maybe you should join us,” Athelstan says.

 

Ecbert remains in the doorway, glancing between them. Athelstan doesn’t look like he is joking, even if his face doesn’t betray much of his feelings. As for Ragnar, Ecbert wouldn’t describe him as overjoyed, but he has never seen Ragnar overjoyed, except when it comes to Athelstan. So, who knows. Besides, the Northman is half-hard, which Ecbert chooses to consider encouraging.

 

He steps inside, closing the door without turning back, although he does make sure it clicks shut. Athelstan squirms a little, edging towards the wall as Ecbert comes closer. The bed isn’t so wide, but with some squeezing all of them should fit in. Squeezing is all Ecbert is asking for.

 

“How did you know I was here?” Ecbert asks while he takes off his belt.

 

Anticipation makes him swell already, plus the fact that Athelstan tracks his every movement.

 

“You gasped,” Ragnar declares sternly, turning his attention to Athelstan and lowering his waist until their hips connect.

 

Oh. Perhaps Athelstan wasn’t the only one taking a sharp breath then. Ecbert doesn’t have time to be embarrassed about it and to be honest, his mind goes blank for the second time today when Ragnar rolls his hips against Athelstan’s, drawing an eager sound out of the young man. Thank God, they are too busy to notice Ecbert’s hurry to get rid of his clothes.

 

He lies down next to them, not sure of what he should do. Not doing anything would be fine too, he could watch Athelstan moan and squirm all day long.

 

Ragnar nudges Athelstan’s thighs further apart, both hands disappearing under the tunic. The movement brings Athelstan closer to Ecbert’s body, and at last, there is some skin contact. As soft as Ecbert imagined it.

 

Ragnar works his hands under the tunic and if Ecbert can’t see what he is doing, he can easily guess, if the steady back and forth movement of his arm is any indication. He mouths at Athelstan’s inner thigh at the same time, with an amazing dedication. It feels like the Northman has forgotten about Ecbert’s presence, but Athelstan certainly hasn’t. He pins the king down with his bright blue eyes, and they are so mesmerizing that Ecbert doesn’t realize Athelstan has been moving until his fingers brush against his beard.

 

Ecbert doesn’t know how far Athelstan will let him go, but he slowly wraps his fingers around his hand, bringing it closer to his mouth. From the corner of his eye, he can see Ragnar has slowed his movements to stare at him. None of them moves, so Ecbert leans down and plants a delicate kiss on Athelstan’s palm. It lands on the marred skin of his scar, making Athelstan shiver. Yet he doesn’t yank his arm away like Ecbert expected him to, just stares at his own hand.

 

The king lets the tip of his tongue run upon the uneven edges of the scar and this time he is rewarded with a breathy gasp. It must appease Ragnar’s wariness, since the Northman hums and lies down again, burying his face against Athelstan’s throat, no doubt trailing it with kisses and bites.

 

Athelstan breaks eye contact with Ecbert for several seconds, closing his eyes in pleasure. Ecbert glances down where Ragnar hand disappears, far lower than if he were stroking Athelstan’s cock. Suddenly Athelstan arches off the bed, then pushes himself up, making Ragnar tumble on his side.

 

“I’ve had enough of this tunic,” Athelstan grunts, freeing the hand Ecbert was holding.

 

The tunic ends up in a heap on the floor, and Ecbert can only admire such enthusiasm. Then Athelstan bends over Ecbert to grab something on the bedside table –giving him a full view of his pink, tender nipples in the process– before flopping down on his side with a satisfied grin, facing Ecbert. He cranes his neck to plant a sloppy kiss on Ragnar’s lips and hands him a small bottle. Ragnar returns the kiss and slots himself against Athelstan’s back, pouring oil on his fingers.

 

“I wish to pleasure you too, Sire,” Athelstan says. “But it is impossible if you stay so far from me.”

 

There is a mischievous glint in those eyes, one that makes Ecbert grin. He shifts until their bodies are almost flush against each other, his cock straining when it rubs against Athelstan’s.

 

“I wasn’t sure I could approach you,” Ecbert teases. “You have a feral protector, after all.”

 

Ragnar raises his head at that, but he is smirking.

 

“Will I walk away in one piece if I do this?” Ecbert asks, sliding the tips of his fingers where Athelstan shaved his hair, massaging the thin skin.

 

“Yes,” Ragnar replies at the same time Athelstan nods.

 

“Good. And what about this?”

 

His hand travels down to Athelstan’s tempting nipple, tracing a circle around it and tweaking it slightly until it hardens. Athelstan sighs, his breath tickling Ecbert’s cheek. He also starts pushing his hips forward, bringing a delicious friction against Ecbert’s cock. As much as Ecbert would like to take credit for the sudden rush of heat, he has to admit that Ragnar pumping two fingers in and out of Athelstan might have had a certain impact.

 

“What if I kiss you?” Ecbert asks. “Would it be alright?”

 

“Maybe not,” Ragnar growls.

 

Athelstan reaches back to slap his butt, his grin widening.

 

“Maybe yes,” he replies.

 

Ecbert brings their mouths together with care, partly because he feels Ragnar’s heavy stare upon him. He tastes each of Athelstan’s lips, then presses his tongue against them. Ecbert’s eyes flick up to Ragnar when Athelstan allows him to explore his mouth, because a little provocation never killed anyone. At least no one Ecbert knows.

 

Ragnar squints and Ecbert chuckles, the sound muffled by the kiss. He tries to memorize every detail of this sweet mouth, loses himself in his study. Athelstan moans, hitching one leg over Ecbert’s waist and grabbing his upper arm. Their cocks rub between their chests, both of them leaking.

 

Without warning, Athelstan yelps and his whole body jerks, his teeth closing around Ecbert’s tongue for a split second.

 

“Sorry,” Athelstan pants when Ecbert draws back.

 

“Extremely sorry,” Ragnar adds with a smirk.

 

Ecbert leans up on one elbow to look at Athelstan’s backside, and yes, as he suspected, Ragnar has three fingers all the way in. Oh, that’s exactly the kind of games Ecbert favours.

 

“Some of you have a clear lack of discipline,” Ecbert chides.

 

Athelstan whines between them, in what may be agreement.

 

“Oh, not you,” Ecbert whispers, nipping at Athelstan’s shoulder. “ _You_ are a very obedient boy. Ragnar, on the other hand…”

 

Ecbert cups the Northman’s jaw, pressing a firm kiss on his lips. Ragnar is too astonished to react, his fingers stilling in Athelstan’s hole.

 

“Oh please,” Ecbert laughs, “don’t stop on my account.”

 

Really, Ragnar Lothbrok can’t be so surprised that Ecbert wants a piece of him too. Anyway, he is prompt to regain his usual self, licking his lips as if he were daring Ecbert to do it again. The king considers this option, because it would be much more fun now that Ragnar is ready to answer him. Later perhaps, for now Athelstan groans and pushes pack on Ragnar’s fingers, reminding Ecbert that his own cock is aching.

 

“Do you want more, my lovely boy?” Ragnar asks.

 

Athelstan doesn’t answer, merely pushes back again as he turns his head to stare at his lover. Ragnar maintains the eye contact as he begins to twist his hand and scissor his fingers, and Ecbert gets a distinctive feeling that he is witnessing one of these intimate moments again.

 

Ragnar twists his fingers at a new angle, making Athelstan buck so hard that they almost completely slip out of him. Without thinking about it, Ecbert puts his hand on Athelstan’s leg, still hooked around his waist in a comfortable weight. Athelstan shivers when Ragnar withdraws his fingers to slick his cock before pressing its head against his entrance. Considering how thick he is, Ecbert hopes he will go slow. Not that he worries much about it, they both seem to master this dance.

 

They are still staring at each other when Ragnar pushes in, and Athelstan’s neck must be straining by now. It doesn’t prevent him from trying to lean even more towards the Northman, hissing between gritted teeth, as Ragnar’s cock sinks in. Lying on his side like this, Athelstan can’t go far, but Ragnar bends to claim his mouth in a bruising kiss. Athelstan bucks again, maybe in an attempt to urge him in, but Ragnar merely puts his hand on his hip to keep him still. Ecbert wouldn’t be surprised if his fingers left bruises in the soft flesh there.

 

A few more seconds and Athelstan’s body goes taut. Another hiss falls from his lips as he tears his mouth away from Ragnar’s, drawing deep breaths in. Ragnar doesn’t move yet, probably savouring Athelstan’s tight heat. Or trying not to come right away.

 

He growls when he gives his first thrust, pushing Athelstan even more against Ecbert’s chest. They remind him of two wild animals, so far from what he pictured, and he could come just from that sight.

 

“Liking… what you see… Sire?” Athelstan pants.

 

“Oh, very much.”

 

Athelstan nods, sneaking his hand down between them and wrapping his fingers around Ecbert’s cock. Ecbert wants to slap himself for inwardly laughing at Ragnar not trying to come within seconds, because that is his sole preoccupation right now. He has to last a little more than that, which won’t be easy with Athelstan teasing him like this, twisting his wrist just enough to bring Ecbert on edge.

 

Ragnar settles on fast, shallow thrusts and when Ecbert lifts his head up, he can see the muscles of Ragnar’s thigh flexing in rhythm with the movement of his hips.

 

The king flops back on the mattress and wraps his hand around both his and Athelstan’s cock, somehow managing to link their fingers together in the process. He is so close now, he feels like his heart is going to give out.

 

Ragnar speeds up his thrusts, pounding into Athelstan who whimpers and tosses his head around. Ecbert matches the speed of his hand with Ragnar’s rhythm and he feels the exact moment Athelstan finds his release. The young man muffles a scream in the sheets, and come splatters all over their stomachs. That, plus his nails raking on Ecbert’s arm, is enough to push the king over the edge. He is pretty sure the look of pure bliss over Athelstan’s face mirrors his own. Damn. Ecbert hasn’t felt like this in a long time. Hasn’t had his blood pounding in his ears and his heart hammering in his chest for far too long.

 

Ecbert doesn’t see when Ragnar comes, only notices at one point that he doesn't hear the sound of skin slapping on skin anymore. Ragnar is breathing hard instead, nose buried in Athelstan’s hair. They stay like that for a while, Ragnar being the only one moving to wrap an arm around Athelstan’s waist. His lover lets out a little sigh, his mouth stretching into a content smile.

 

“May I ask something?” Ecbert says.

 

“Only if it doesn’t require a long answer,” Ragnar grunts.

 

“Why did you invite me in your bed? I’m not complaining, just wondering. You could have let me walk away.”

 

Athelstan shifts in Ragnar’s arms so that they can exchange a glance, some silent message passing between them.

 

“We were… experimenting,” Ragnar replies, prompting Athelstan to laugh.

 

“Oh, come on, it sounds horrible if you say it like this.”

 

“No, it’s fine,” Ecbert says, because really, it’s not like he minds it. “What kind of experiment was it?”

 

Athelstan studies him for a few seconds before answering.

 

“Reconciling faiths.”

 

That’s an interesting concept. Ecbert isn’t convinced the Bishop would approve of it, but hell, it is creative.

 

“Do you think it worked?”

 

“I don’t know yet,” Athelstan replies.

 

He buries himself in Ragnar’s arms and closes his eyes, dragging Ecbert with him by pulling his arm. Oh well, Wessex can wait for another hour.

 

“We could try again, if it doesn’t work,” Ecbert suggests.

 

Athelstan’s sleepy smile is encouraging, even though Ragnar is shooting daggers at Ecbert. Without opening his eyes, Athelstan playfully elbows the Northman.

                                  

“Don’t glare,” Athelstan mutters.

 

Ecbert lies back with a grin. His nap will be filled with nice dreams, although they can’t be sweeter than his life right now. The last thing he sees before falling asleep is Ragnar’s fingers brushing against Athelstan’s hands.


End file.
